The landlord came by yesterday asking me why I wasn’t doing the painting and shit he asked me to do. I said I’ve been sick. He said yeah that I looked sick but in the working world people do what they gotta do and don’t puss out because of the sniffles. I was like ok yeah I get it so I got to work. I’m not really sick but according to him I look sick.

Anyway it’s a lot of fucking work but it’s kind of Zen, gets me into a zone and keeps me busy and I’m able to skip two months rent as a result. There are six apartments including mine, and Flower’s. So the first thing I did was make sure nobody was home and then I went in the other four apartments. I didn’t want to look for money, well I did, but I thought I’d get caught. So I just looked around for booze and pills. My total booty was: 1 bottle of beer, a to go coffee mug full of whiskey, a bottle of wine from an entire rack, there was vodka but I hate vodka but I took it anyway because it’s a good way to drink and not smell like liquor when you’re out and it’s not an appropriate time and place to be drinking. For pills I got: Zoloft, Concerta, Demerol, and Anatensol Decanoate. At first I was going to take only a few pills, but instead I just took the whole bottles. I figured people would guess they lost the bottles but they would notice if pills were missing. Also, I didn’t plan to go in and do the baseboards today, only the halls and stairwells, then it couldn’t be blamed on me because supposedly I’d never gone in there. I don’t like to steal but I just don’t have any money.

After I collected these things, I got to work. I took some Demerol and Concerta which gave me a relaxed kind of numb buzz that I leveled off with the mug of whiskey, which I refilled with vodka and wine throughout my time working. I guess I passed out on the stairs though because Pete woke me up when he got home. I was surprised because I thought I was working really well in the zone but I guess the zone slipped me into unconsciousness. He had an early day because he had a doctor’s appointment, so I don’t think anyone else came home and saw me like that, which is good because they’d probably suspect I was the med thief. Pete was not happy. Kind of pissed. He’s beginning to get on my nerves with all his fucking scrutiny. I mean I’m working so we don’t have to pay rent and he’s looking at me like I’m a piece of shit.

So I put away the paint and tools and stuff and collected some things and left. I didn’t know how long I planned to leave for, but I put my journal and pen, some booze, pills, pot, water, cigarettes, and a sweatshirt in my backpack and left, told Pete I was going for a walk. I didn’t have any money. I didn’t have anyone I could borrow from, besides Flower. I hitchhiked to Boston, got one ride the whole way there from some freak who wanted me to suck his dick after. For a second I thought …well maybe if he gives me some money… but then I was like, wtf am I thinking??? I said no and took off. I went to the Common and lied down under a tree and took a nap.

I walked to a bar around dusk and started a tab hoping I’d be able to slip out without paying but I forgot it was a Monday and probably wouldn’t be busy, so I’d have to run. I just drank and plotted and at some point I forgot to plot because I was too drunk. I kept going out for cigarettes but the bouncer/carder was at the door and he was kind of talkative, going on and on. I think he was bored because it was so slow, so he was talking to me like I was his friend.

Finally I was like, “look man, I been drinking and I just realized I have no money, what am I going to do?”

I was like, “cool, thanks man” and ”see ya” and I left before it got complicated or before he realized just how much I’d been drinking. I guess he bonded with me or something. Things like that don’t happen every day, so I have to be grateful and not disregard them when they do.

That was about 11pm and I went and found another bar that was busier. I was having my first drink when I realized that it was a cop bar. Mostly all off duty cops patroned the place. I said to the bartender before I finished the drink. “Shit I forgot my cash and I don’t have an ATM.” He grabbed the glass and said, “see ya pal.”

I walked out of there and went back to the park. Back on a bench. I noticed I was hungry and it was this gripping, squeezing hunger that turned my stomach so much I thought I was going to puke. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. What the fuck is wrong with me? I have no where to go, I have no money, I have no life. I’m 23 years old this is pathetic. I officially declared myself a loser at that moment. A hungry loser.

I thought of going to have an enlightening conversation with a homeless guy. I imagined sitting with him and sharing my bottle of vodka with him. He’d tell me how he came to be where he was and maybe it would be a familiar tale to me. He’d tell me about his life, his dreams, and his ultimate failures, and how though he’s contented himself to be where he is, he has many regrets. Then we’d break out in a drunken rendition of “My Way.” I’d leave there having learned many things about my self and with new ambitions to bring about change in my life. He’d change me and my life would evolve for the better as a result. It would be the most life altering experience I’d ever had. Just like in the movies. So I walked around looking for the homeless people. Some were scary, some were swearing to their own Shadowy Guys, and the only approachable one smelled like shit. So I walked, and staggered and found my way to the Charles. I leaned over the bridge and all I could think to do was jump. But obviously I didn’t.

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Yesterday I felt like shit. All around shit. Mental shit, physical shit, emotional shit, spiritual and psychological shit. But it was a nice day. So I went for a walk. I went to the park and sat on a bench. I watched the ducks and geese. I heard children playing. I saw lots of families. I felt so disconnected from it all. It didn’t help that I was high and drunk off my ass. I wore sunglasses and sat still so maybe people didn’t notice it so much. I just sat and smoked one cigarette after another.

I realized that the more drugs I do, the less drugs people see me do. I’m no longer sharing the high with other people. I sneak off to do it privately, hiding most of my use from everyone, except of course Dave. But even he thinks I’m getting the shit to share.

I sat there thinking about my whole fucking life. I don’t know if I was being nostalgic or regretful or what. My past was far away. My present was so distant. The future seemed unlikely as if it was my time to die. It’s like I wasn’t even there, couldn’t reach out or grasp anything or anyone, just a phantom on a park bench.

I thought about when I was a kid and I ran away. I just took off and left for a whole year. There wasn’t any big search for me because I left a note saying I was running away, so the cops just blew it off. I was an open case left in a draw. That’s what I feel like now. An open case left in a draw. Somebody’s got to do something about it, don’t think it can be me. Until I decide to come home. That’s what I have to do is make a choice. I ran away for a year and then came home because it sucked out there on my own. I was almost 13, old enough that people didn’t get concerned when they saw me on the street alone. I was young enough that it complicated things when I needed to eat or find a place to sleep. I learned quickly that I couldn’t stay in one place for very long. If you do, then you’re going to catch the eye of the wrong kind of people. People who want to befriend you then use and abuse you. Reminds me of the Bob Dylan song, “Like a Rolling Stone.” Well not the whole song, just these lines, “And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street and now you find out you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

So I had to keep moving, just walking, getting rides when they seemed safe. That young though, very few were safe. Finally I had to come home when I admitted to myself that I was afraid. I just wanted to be home and in my own bed and have my mother cook me gnocchi. That was my favorite then. I went home and everything was different and it never got back to being the same. I altered things by running away. I traumatized the entire household including myself and put a huge hole in my family. My parents seemed to look at me like a stranger sometimes, though I could tell they wanted to connect with me again. But I just couldn’t connect. Everything was different because I changed. I left there a child and came back a broken person with no chance of becoming a real man.

I sat on that bench and thought of these things and I thought of last year when Kathy killed herself. All I could think was how selfish suicide was. Just to think, “oh I’m in so much pain I can’t take it anymore” then to escape and leave all the pain behind for everyone you know to suffer. How selfish is that? It’s the ultimate selfish act. That’s what I thought until I tried to kill myself not long after Kathy died, before I started this journal. It was kind of an accident, I didn’t mean to do it, but once I decided to, it was a real attempt. I only survived because the cops found me. It was weird though because I was fine, or thought I was, then I just kind of snapped. Once I came out of it, I was fine again and assured everyone I’d never try it again it was stupid and selfish and I wanted to live.

A couple things came from that anyway. A new perspective on life that was great and positive and short lived because now I’m too high to even notice I’m alive, and I’m beginning to gradually isolate everyone around me. Eventually I won’t be alive to them either. I’m killing myself in that I’m gradually transforming into a ghost, a memory. A shadowy guy. And the shadowy guy came from that too. Once I came out of it, I began to dream of Kathy and have sightings of this shadowy guy. I’m just now realizing he is me. As if there is another plane of existence and I’m seeing through the veil, and he is another self and he’s trying to break through to warn me of the path I’m on. The last thing that came from that is that I’ve smelled strangely for a long time and I think the smell is now just going away. I overdosed on tons of shit and since then, a tangy kind of odor comes from my pours, from my armpits when I sweat. It’s not a bad smell that people notice, it’s just me. I notice I smell differently. I altered the chemistry in my body and poured so many toxins into me that they just took about a year to be cleansed from inside me. Very strange.

Anyway, I sat on the park bench yesterday thinking of all these things. I didn’t even take a notebook or anything with me to write in. I do that sometimes when I’m alone. I just wanted to think. I had nothing to say anymore. I began to get tired and I lied down on the bench, knowing it would only be a matter of time that some mom would get freaked out and call the police to have me removed. So I had that much time to relax anyway. I lied down on the bench, closed my eyes, listened to the sounds of the park, mostly the geese who were louder than the kids. I felt the hot sun on my face. It felt so good, so natural. Then it went behind a cloud because I could feel that shadow. But it didn’t feel like that kind of shadow so I opened my eyes. Emma was standing there. She said, “Hey Grimm.” I sat up and could say nothing. She said “How you doing?” I still could say nothing. I had too much to say and I couldn’t possibly be concise enough. That’s the way it is sometimes, the more you have to say, the fewer words come out of your mouth. So I just leaned my head into the tips of my fingers as I propped my elbows on my knees. I felt like hiding. I didn’t want her to see me like this.

She sat beside me and said, “I think we need to talk.” I was ashamed of who I was at that moment and I realized how destroyed I was. Not the same Grimm that she knew. I said, “yeah, but not now, I got things to do.” And I got up and walked away, choking up, trying to not stagger or appear as fucked up as I felt inside.

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Well Hasty was born on April Fool’s Day which is pretty cool. But you have to wonder how many times in her life did people joke about that thinking they’re so clever. Well I did too, and she was very gracious, so she’s a sport.

Anyway, Monday for her birthday I forced her to stay home from work so she could come hang out with me. I had to borrow a car since I don’t have one and the only person who didn’t need a car for work or anything was Dave. I hate Dave’s shitbox. It’s about three different colors because the body was put together from three different cars. It needs a paint job not just for that reason, but the colors of the original cars were pretty much spray painted on, so it’s dull and rusty. It needs a new muffler so it’s really loud. The radio doesn’t work and it’s old so it doesn’t even have a cd player. It has an audio cassette player. Dave has this contraption where you can put in a cassette and it’s hooked up to a cd player, so you can play cd’s in the car. But I thought it would be cool to use the cassette player, since I like old stuff and being retrogressive, so on Sunday, Pete and I went to this huge flea market to look for some cassettes. I found a bunch of Blues tapes, and for the drive with Hasty, she and I listened to Bessie Smith, Muddy Waters, and John Lee Hooker. We played a few songs repeatedly. My favorites are Waters’ “Mannish Boy,” Hooker’s “Boom Boom” and his “One Bourbon One Scotch One Beer,” and Smith’s “Reckless Blues.”

Waters’ sings, “I can make love in five minutes time. Ain’t that a man.” Makes me laugh.

Anyway, the final detail about Dave’s car. He has this homemade bumper sticker. We were joking around one day because he’s a “Walking Dead” fan too. And I said “Don’t worry Rick, when I am a zombie, I won’t ever eat a cop. I don’t eat pig.” That’s because I don’t eat pig products because I like pigs and I want a pet pig, so it was just a joke. So Dave goes and makes a freakin’ bumper sticker out of it. Except he used capitalization: “Don’t worry Rick, when I am a zombie I won’t ever eat a COP. I don’t eat PIG.” Nice thing to have on your car when you’re driving around in a shitbox carrying a shitload of drugs. Also, he gives me credit for it when people ask, which sucks because it’s not funny or clever it’s just stupid and corny so I don’t want credit for it. It’s dumb and I was high.

On Monday there were no drugs in the car but I still hate that bumper sticker so I got some contact paper and cut it the right size, then in a Sharpee, I wrote “I LOVE MY MONKEY” on it and I covered the bumper sticker.

After that I picked up Hasty. I did a lot of cocaine so I could be sure to drive all right and I didn’t drink too much. I brought cocaine on me too. And Oxycodone to level off the edge.

I got her and I don’t have a GPS so I wrote down the instructions from MapQuest. I don’t like Google Maps. I couldn’t print them because my printer’s out of ink. I guess Hasty didn’t understand my directions so we got lost on a straight road. In our defense it was a very long and winding straight road. Before we hit the back roads, on the highway we saw a guy in a Porsche smoking from a crack pipe while he was driving. We also saw a woman probably driving to work in the company car. It said “Work From Home” on the side of it. Hasty and I were laughing at the irony.

And by the way, Hasty had no idea where I was taking her. But she was really excited to see when we pulled into the parking lot that we were at The Butterfly Place in Westford. We got out of the car and she jumped up and down like a little kid and hugged me and kissed my face a thousand times and said she loved it and she loved me for taking her there. I kind of figured she’d like it at least a little.

We went in and it was so cool. It was a greenhouse and the butterflies were flying all over the place. Then we saw Bill Nye the Science Guy’s autograph hung on the wall and apparently he filmed an episode there way back when.

We saw tiny little birds that were just walking around everywhere.

And we saw all kinds of butterflies that don’t even come around here. This one is cool, it’s just about to fly so it’s wing is a little blurry. But it’s got these awesome eyes:

This was my favorite, I guess it’s called the glass wing or something. But you can see directly through it, even more clearly than in this photograph. This one’s wing is broke off at the tip.

Anyway, Hasty was so happy, which was great. After we got some food from the Farmer’s Market, we went to the Old Stone Church in West Boylston and sat in the windows, looking out on the water and had lunch.

It’s a gutted old church, I think there was a fire. It’s basically only the structure. Even the ground inside is dirt. It’s filled with bird shit but it’s cool to hear the birds inside because of the acoustics.

We hiked around for a little while too. She had gotten painted lady butterfly caterpillars at The Butterfly Place, so she took them for our hike and lunch. She didn’t want to leave them in the car. I think she had a good time on her birthday. Only thing I forgot was the cake. So on the way to take her home I ran into Hannaford and told her to wait in the car. I grabbed a mini cake and had them write, Happy B-day Hasty on it. I got candles but only about five could fit on the cake. I brought it out to the car, lit them, she blew them out and made a wish. I realized I forgot forks and plates, so we just each grabbed a handful of cake and ate the whole thing that way.

I took her home after, with cake on her face, and she was really happy I think. As for me, it felt good not to be so self centered for a change.

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Photo of the Stone Church taken from Wikipedia, photo credit Richard B. Johnson. I took the butterfly photos.

DARYL – out of character because he’s getting too sensitive, writers are catering to the fangirls, btw, speaking of douchebags, his best line was when he called Martinez a douchebag because he smokes menthols

CARL – went from cute kid, to pain in the ass, to cool kick ass, to fucking punk pain in the ass psychopath with a penchant for rebelling against his dad

HERSHEL – I’ll admit he’s pretty consistent, except for the second to the last episode, he lapses. He’s so consistent in fact, that I think we all expect him to be a martyr at some point since he only has one leg. He’ll be sacrificing himself. At the least the writers are holding off because that’s too predictable. And it’s so predictable, I hope he doesn’t die this way, he needs an unexpected fate.

CAROL & BETH – hard to say because they’re the writers’ way of dealing with the baby so they’re hardly ever around, WTF

MERLE – ok at some point Merle started catching Daryl’s old softy disease, he’s a perfect example of the writers creating character motivations in order to drive the plot to a certain direction, his best line recently, “I am a mystery to me” or something like that

THE GOVERNOR – I just feel badly for this actor in so many ways, but he makes more than I ever will and he can have all the roles Liam Neesen no longer takes, so he’s good

ANDREA – I feel even more badly for her, not just because she’s freakin’ hot as hell, but because she is the scapegoat for how fucking annoying the Governor is. At some point there becomes just way too much Governor and he becomes less frightening and more agitating even though he does have the authentic threat of peril at his heels. Andrea, because of her naïve hope and ambitions, becomes the scapegoat who is the target for all the annoyance. Everyone blames Andrea and hates on Andrea. As far as being out of character? WTF yeah I’d have to say there’s a couple things regarding her that she does out of character, very subtle things, that were only to drive the plot. For example, she kicks fucking ass hardcore. That’s her true character. This is a girl who just took down four zombies on her own, while pinned to a tree. So….. ???

LORI – I wish she would go the fuck away, she was a bitch from the beginning, now she’s fucking with Rick’s head, I blame her for everything, the first indication of the downfall of the writing with all her fucking paranormal mind games. Then somehow she appears all holy and …damn, give me a fucking break.

MAGGIE – Sorry Maggie, but sometimes you need to move on a little quicker with trauma than that when you’re dealing with zombies. In that world, there is no time for trauma because that’s when you die. That’s all I have to say.

GLENN – was a pizza delivery kid, then the gofer, then bait, then carrier of burdens, revealer of secrets, romantic figure, then he became the angry and vicious zombie fighting monster with the intention to destroy impulsively, then the rational romantic figure able to carry out orders. The writers no longer know what to do with this great potential for a character because they enforce multiple areas of his nature within two episodes at a time. He hit his peak when he kicked serious zombie ass while he was tied to a chair. Then the writers were all like, ”what do we do with him now?”

MICHONNE – potential level for awesome – high, but sorry, this character is only a prop at this time

MILTON – I don’t even want to talk about this guy

MORGAN, TYREESE – These characters, massive cool potential I hope the writers don’t fuck up in season 4. I don’t think the writers know what to do with black guys honestly. They get these big black guys, make them really cool, then they don’t know what to do with them. Did T-Dog ever speak? Was he really even there? And Oscar…why? It’s like if you’re a big black guy and you get hired as an actor on the walking dead, you’ll probably die, and they’ll hire a new big black guy to replace you. In fact, that’s what they audition for I think. “We need a new big black guy, the writers didn’t know what to do with the last one.” If they’re going to keep creating big black guy characters, they need to figure out how to write them. Maybe they just don’t know how to write black characters. They’re all cool big black guys, including Michonne. That’s not a comment on her appearance because I think she’s fucking hot and I love her ass, but yeah, her personality? Big black guy.

So I’d say Rick, Merle, and Andrea were my hugest complaints regarding out of characterness. All three characters were the victims of plot driven writing.

What’s the difference between plot driven writing and character driven writing you ask? Well let me say that when I first started watching the show, it was the characters that drove me more than the plot. In fact, whenever the plot would get too complex, it got monotonous and frustrating. The group gets stationed at a location then is stuck there for an entire season. Which makes sense because of course that’s all they want is stability and normalcy, and none of these folks were nomads prior to the zombie apocalypse, so I accept that. But that’s where the first problem stems from: what to do when the same people are stuck in the same location, relatively safe from zombies. You need to do some shit to make it interesting. A writing challenge, I accept that.

So yeah anyway, a character driven plot is this: You have strong characters who have specific personalities, and particular natures. You put them in situations, good or bad, and they make decisions, act and react according to their personalities and natures. Based on their choices and reactions, shit happens, which leads to other shit. This is the case here when sometimes writers find themselves saying, “oh shit, I can’t believe that happened but that’s what Rick would do.” So when you watch a character driven show, characters become real, and you can see them change and evolve. This means that you can take any one of these characters and psychoanalyze them, and find that all their actions are congruent with their personalities and natures. There’s a psychology to this kind of writing.

Plot driven writing is when you say I want this thing to happen, I want this person to die, I want all events to lead here. So you put the end goal in sight, which of course happens for just about every season finale, so understandable but not enough of an excuse. Once the end goal is in sight, you go back to where you left off and plot out paths to get there. A lot of writers outline and this is fine, but the trick is to NOT MAKE IT OBVIOUS that you’re outlining. Then the writing suffers. Plot driven writing can make it obvious if you’re not skilled enough. So ummmm “Walking Dead” writers? WTF is going on, I need an explanation.

I digress. What happens in plot driven writing? Well first off, you start laying out things that conveniently happen in order for the plot to get where it’s going. Such as, oh how convenient that in the middle of this field with nothing in it, there’s the building where they filmed all the “Saw” movies. Or isn’t that a coincidence that this person survived because how else would such an event occur later without her presence. And how convenient for a person to run out of bullets just in time for this person to survive. And isn’t that unfortunate that this person took so much time to do something that any person in their right mind would be rushing through, but this person was too busy being sentimental, that it just resulted in one of the end goals, one of the perfectly laid out plans.

In this example, I have to say, someone was taking so long to accomplish a very important thing, that it was so distracting, that I didn’t even hear the sentimental conversation that was going on which I didn’t even care about anyway. I was too busy going, “wtf!!! do it already!!!” In fact, the only way I know the conversation was sentimental is because it was low key. I was too distracted by the uncharacteristic stupidity of this person to pay attention. No idea what they were talking about.

So there are props and locations and coincidences all placed along the path to get to the end. Then, how do we get from prop to location and coincidence? The characters bring us there, whether or not it’s in their nature to do so. The characters make choices, or have motivations, that are not the people we as viewers know. And yeah, there’s a certain level of tolerance because they’re all in a perpetual state of fight or flight, and trauma. Regardless, the only time a real person steps that far away from his or her nature, is when they fucking lose their minds.

So yeah writers, WTF are you doing to Rick? It’s like you’re repeatedly raping him, just stop it. Seriously, Rick is cool, yet they’re fucking with his character so much that it’s just going to get irritating and they’ll have to kill him eventually just because they won’t know what to do with him. So if Rick dies in season 4, blame the season 3 writers, they set him up. I’m not even fucking joking.

Anyway, it’s just the hype and the success and the writers have performance anxiety. They get so caught up in all the popularity and then lose sight of what made the show great. I don’t know if they keep getting new writers, but that also causes a problem. Some writers are character driven, some are plot driven, and then there’s a dynamic that takes place when they all get together, a unity of writing style that emerges from the collective. New writers coming in also may not have that connection with the characters that viewers have. Then they start listening too much to the fans. Oh don’t kill Daryl because we’ll riot. Or, kill this one because I hate that person. Writers affected by hype sacrificing integrity.

Anyway, that’s why I want to be a writer for “Walking Dead” because I know how to get it back to all its rawness and trueness.

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Saturday night I went out with Patrick, Pete, Hasty, and her Husband. Patrick, Pete, and Hasty dressed disco. I was going to do it too but I saw the options and hadn’t realized how effeminate the 70s were. Especially since I was born in 1989. Yes, that’s right, I will be 24 years old this year. In August. I’m a Leo.

I met someone once who guessed I was a Leo in a matter of seconds after meeting me. I asked how they could tell. They said that Leos will walk into a room and they don’t have to say a word, but everyone is instantly aware of their presence. They exude charisma. She actually used those words, I never forgot it. She said that a Leo will enter the room and people will each take a moment to stop what they’re doing and stare, if only for a few seconds, but it’s usually longer. I said, well thanks, but now I’m kind of paranoid.

Anyway, I guess it’s nice to know that wherever I’m going, I’m exuding charisma. Sounds kind of like a disease, like oozing some kind of bodily fluid. Yeah, I exude charisma every time I shoot a load.

Ok, so what the hell was I talking about before all that…oh yeah effeminate disco clothing for men. So yeah, Hasty’s husband and I opted out. It’s bad enough I look like one of those freakin’ Yahoo avatars now. I cut my hair because I didn’t want the blue anymore. So I took the electric razor, set it to 2, and shaved off all the blue. Now I look like an avatar and not a real person. I think with my head nearly shaved, in feminine disco clothes, I’d look like Ripley on crack. Yeah, that’s Ripley from “Alien,” “Aliens,” all that, whatever one she’s got a shaved head. So people would definitely stop and stare when I’d enter the room, and not because I was exuding charisma.

But that’s neither here nor there. <—I’ve always wanted to use this expression and I’ve never had the opportunity until now. This is a pivotal moment for me. I must pause to reflect…

My name is Wall Grimm and I am pausing to reflect.

WALL GRIMM PAUSES TO REFLECT

…

…

…

Nice. So yeah, out at the gay bar with friends in disco clothes and a husband. He and I sat at the bar talking most of the night while Hasty danced sandwiched by Patrick and Pete. I think P & P (kind of cool but a little too Hipster/Hollywood so that’s the last time I’ll do that) I think Patrick and Pete were kind of into each other and having Hasty there made it easier for them to be together because neither of them seem very forward, both shy if you ask me.

After we first got to the bar and sat and got our drinks, when they first went out to the dance floor, I said to Hasty’s husband, because I have a bad habit of being brutally honest in the strangest way possible, “I think perverted things about your wife.” He didn’t seem to mind but responded, “So do I.” Then I knew we’d get along. We talked about guy stuff like household repairs, the Bruins, and marshmallows. Yeah men like marshmallows. But we hate them in our hot chocolate. We stir until they melt. We like them in cereal, especially in Count Chocula, and we like them over a campfire, scorched and on fire so you have to blow them out when you eat them. Or if you’re drunk and stupid enough and can open your mouth wide enough, you just shove them in your mouth while they’re in flames. But yeah, they should be charred on the outside and gooey on the inside. That’s the way real men like them.

So I was having this conversation with her husband, damn I forgot his name, or did I even listen when it was told to me…when Hasty came over and grabbed me by the upper arm to get me to dance. Her fingers went in up under my armpit and it tickled me, so I laughed and squirmed away for a second. Not a good thing for Hasty to know about me, I realized later. After I recovered, and resumed the men talk with her man, she returned later and from behind stuck her fingers up in my armpits and really tickled me. I squirmed and fell off the barstool and splatted on the floor.

I literally splatted. I mean I actually heard the sound SPLAT! when I landed. It was nuts and undignifying. But I got a glimpse up her disco dress so I felt like a man again, then I sat back at the bar, facing out to the dance floor so that wouldn’t happen again. Hasty stood and faced me and her husband, talking to us. She asked her husband if she could kiss me, I was like ummm no that would be awkward. Respecting the marital boundaries. I know I had sex with that woman in the same room with her husband on St. Patrick’s Day weekend, but that was for Dropkick Murphys tickets. Here with Hasty, I think it’s a good idea to maintain a certain level of boundaries because I have a tendency to rationalize that crossing boundaries is ok now and then. Like taking Bob’s money. I rationalized that he punched me in the face so it was justifiable and I don’t need to pay back.

Whatever, thanks Bob for the dough because I had a great time out Saturday night with some of that money.

While I talked with Hasty and her husband. Patrick and Pete were talking a few stools down and I think there’s some mutual interest going on. Good, maybe if Pete has someone to occupy his time he’ll stop being a pain in the ass and scrutinizing me.

At the end of the night, the DJ played ABBA for like the last several songs. Hasty’s husband and I were dragged out to dance so all five of us were dancing. I have no fucking clue how to dance to disco, but it didn’t even matter by then. We all danced as a group and had a really good time.

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

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It’s been nice not having to work but two things suck about not having a job.

1. You get lazy.

2. There’s too much time to do drugs.

3. You have no money.

4. Once you start doing more drugs with less money, you start to do stupid things to make money in order to do those drugs.

Ok that’s four things. The sequence just happened as I was writing.

Thursday I ran out of money, cleared out my bank account, and I was tempted to sell my bike but I don’t have a car. I just use other people’s cars now and then, but whatever. This place isn’t conducive enough to being without a car or at least a bike.

I can’t borrow from Sharly. I can’t borrow from my parents. I can’t borrow from my sister. I can’t borrow from Dave. I can’t borrow from my landlord.

Since Bob wasn’t home, I decided to borrow from him. Bob is stupid. He’s one of those guys who doesn’t believe in banks. That in itself is not stupid. What’s stupid is the fact that he tells everyone how much he doesn’t believe in banks. The fucking idiot is lucky no one has ripped him off yet since his adversity toward banks implies he’s probably got a stash somewhere in his apartment.

I knocked on the door hoping Flower wouldn’t be home so I could just go in and find the money and help myself to some. I wouldn’t say I took it, but I’d admit it later when I would be able to pay back. I don’t like to steal but I know Bob won’t loan it to me. So I don’t know what else I could’ve done.

Flower answered the door and she was glad to see me because I think she’s into me. I’m not into her necessarily, but I always figured I’d fuck her whenever I got the chance.

I told her I needed to borrow money.

She asked how much.

I said, “Ummm well I don’t know ummm maybe like a thousand?”

She said that’s a lot of money. I said, “…yeah…”

Then we had a moment of silence pregnant with sexual tension. (Note my interesting use of the word pregnant. Creative, but let’s just hope not prophetic).

Then I started kissing her. After I fucked the hell out of her, she gave me $1000. She even exposed the hiding place. It’s kept in a fireproof box in the wall. You remove the baseboard. It’s undetectable that you can do this. Inside is the box. She also showed me that he has $5,458. Well, now it’s $4,458.

I wish I didn’t know where the money was or how much he has because it’s hard to trust myself. I feel kind of desperate. I don’t like to steal or hurt people by stealing. But I’ve recently decided to think Bob is a prick and hate him. He punched me in the face so the $1000 is justice as far as I’m concerned. I don’t plan on paying back.

I was good though, I paid phone and internet and other shit, just not rent because I’ll work that off, and I bought food.

With the rest, I bought beer, wine, whiskey, and stocked up on some drugs.

Stocking up on drugs is the worse idea I’ve ever had. Availability or lack thereof is the controlling factor in moderation. The greater the supply, the more I use the more frequently. Supply and demand. Then my tolerance increases. Stocking up was a bad idea. I’m fucking stupid.

So I’ve kind of gotten myself in a predicament. But whatever. I mean, the only really bad shit going on for me is, well, let me make a list. Then I will make a list of good things.

My name is Wall Grimm and these are my lists.

WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF BAD THINGS

Emma will have nothing to do with me, Sweetheart left carrying my baby, I was fired, I do too many drugs, I need a job, I need a new apartment, people think I’m a loser, it’s been around a year since Kathy killed herself and I’ve begun to dream about her again and I don’t want to, and the shadowy guy has come back.

WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF GOOD THINGS

I have good parents, Sharly’s a good person who’s in my life, my landlord helps me out so maybe we should stay here until I get my shit together since I’d probably be evicted somewhere else, Pete’s a good friend, I have new friends Hasty and Patrick, girls like me so I’m not such a loser that I can’t get laid, I’m educated, I’m smart, I’m creative, I’m not a bad person, I’m a good person, we have a good apartment with a nice back yard where we can barbeque, have a fire pit, and build kick ass snow forts, I have other good friends even if sometimes they are bad influences, I have a decent bike, I have more good things in my life than bad things.

So, somewhere in there is maybe the shovel to the shit hole I’ve dug myself into. I can toss it, and find the ladder to climb my way out. The ladder is somewhere in there too. But I know I’ve missed some stuff, essentially overlooking it, and yeah, so I’ve got some work to do.

Anyway, last night Pete stopped being such a pain in the ass grudge holder and came out with me, Hasty, and Patrick. It was a good time. Hasty’s husband even came.

But I think I’m going to go for a walk right now so I’ll write about that later. I love walking when I’m drunk because it’s cool to look at people and know I’m in a completely different world. My very own rhealm. Since it’s my personal plane of existence, I prefer to spell the world rhealm with an ‘h’. My world, my existence, my rhealm. The Rhealm of Grimm.

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Today’s the first day of Spring, or was it yesterday. Either way there’s still several feet of snow on the ground. Tuesday, I called Patrick and Hasty and they came over later after I was done shoveling for the landlord and they were done work or whatever. By then, the snow was definitely snowman snow. We had some sleet in the mix so the snow was real sticky. We went out back and began building a fort that was over 6 feet tall. I’m 5’10″ so it was high up as I could reach with my arms and my arms are longer than 24 inches.

I went and got a ladder from the shed. The landlord gave me a key so I can do work for him. We built the fort near a tree, so I propped the ladder against the tree and our next job was to collect branches to put across the top of the fort so we can make a roof. We were digging around beneath the snow for branches and collecting those that fell off from the weight of the snow, when Bob and Flower came out to join us. I kind of didn’t want them there, kind of wanted Patrick and Hasty all to myself. Patrick and Hasty are like a brand new world for me, separate from all the mistakes I’ve made and the patterns that have developed in my present life. They’re like maybe a new path I’m on, so I don’t want them contaminated with the residue of my other world.

But then as Bob and Flower were helping to look for branches, I caught site of Flower bending over in her pink ski pants and I got instantly horny. So I grabbed her and pulled her to be obscured behind a tree and started kissing her. I haven’t had sex since Friday and I’m going out of my mind. I started to slip my hand inside her pants, creeping my way down her panties, but she had a lot of layers on so it was a task. I was just about to strike gold when Bob came over, pulled me away and punched me in the face. I stumbled on a pile of snow behind me and fell over. As he was leading Flower inside I was about to stand up and fight back but then I caught site of blood from my mouth on the snow. The blood was so red, and the snow was so white, it was really cool. I just was staring at it when Patrick and Hasty came over to see if I was ok. I said yeah and jumped on Hasty and tried to put snow down the front of her coat. Patrick defended her by trying to put snow down the back of my pants.

Then we got in the hugest snowball fight until Patrick got a huge one in the face that knocked him off his feet. Hasty did that one. Hasty and I declared that he was dead and so we buried him in the snow, everything but his head. He said it was actually pretty warm. Then he just stayed buried for a little while as Hasty and I finished collecting branches. After resurrecting Patrick, I went on top of the ladder and put the branches over the top. Patrick tossed snow on top with a shovel, while I placed some that Hasty handed to me, and arranged it all. We dug out the initial snow that fell through, then built a wall to close it in. We left an open spot for a window, and the doorway we had to get on our hands and knees to crawl through. I opted to go in behind Hasty. I have to take the cheap thrills whenever I can because she’s a married woman.

We sat in there briefly and I passed my flask around, it was the coolest fucking fort ever. We decided to go to the store and get ingredients for s’mores and some wine. So we built a snowman to stand guard while we were gone. By the time we came back it was getting dark, so we scrambled to find more wood and branches. I got some cardboard and shit from inside and one of those camping candles. We dug out a pit in the snow, built a fire, put the sleds around the fire to sit on, and made s’mores while we got shitfaced on wine.

Every now and then I saw Pete glancing out from the window and I know he wanted to join us, but he was being a big stupid prick. I’d be ok if Pete would come onto my new path, because he fits, but he’s being weird lately, he doesn’t want to hang out with me so much anymore it seems. I think he’s mad that I lost my job. But I fixed it so we didn’t get evicted, and I’m even going to work to spare us of next month’s rent, so he should be glad that I stepped up when I needed to.

Anyway, Hasty, Patrick and I decided we want to go camping together sometime, maybe even go on a road trip, so I think we’ll do that. That would be wicked cool.

We sat around the fire, not even cold, drinking wine. I went to take a piss and wrote my name in the snow. Shortly after that, Patrick did the same, but he couldn’t spell his whole name because he didn’t have to go that badly. Hasty tried it but fell over. She was laughing so hard, we went to see what was the matter and she was lying in the snow with her pants down laughing. I think she was a little drunk.

Anyway, it was a great time. No one expected anything from me, and no one was disappointed in me. It was a lot of fun.

next Grimm 70: Bob’s Money, Wall Grimm’s Lists of Bad and Good Things, & The Rhealm of Grimm http://wp.me/p41c99-b2

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Ok there were some repercussions to my actions. Pete and my parents never reported me missing because Sharly called Pete and asked him if he knew where I was. She told him about the money I took and the note I left, so they figured I was gone willingly and not missing. Missing to them, but not missing in reality. Or maybe I was missing in reality in one way or another. Whatever.

So, I got back Sunday night and Pete said he never told my parents which was cool because they would have worried. Then he said that’s just enabling my irresponsible behavior. He was pissed because I didn’t pay rent and never talked to the landlord about it, so he was badgering Pete. So yesterday I talked to the landlord and told him I’d be his sex slave for a while until I could pay rent. Well, not really. But I told him I’d strip and paint the hall and the stairs, the doors and doorways, and all the baseboards, inside the apartments and out. If I do all that, he’ll let me off the hook for this month’s rent. As I write this, looking out at the snow, I’ll be shoveling too, I’m sure.

Maybe I can do even more work and be able to skip next month’s rent too, since Sharly fired me. She said she had no choice, she had a business to run. She said she was tired of worrying about whether I was going to show up to work or not, or what I was going to look like or if I was going to be high or drunk. She said she likes me and she thinks I have great people skills, I’m great with the customers. But she said I ruined her trust by taking that money, even though I wasn’t exactly stealing it, but I borrowed it without her permission. She told me not to worry about paying it back, consider it a termination pay or whatever. She also said that if I get my shit together, I can come back to her any time and she’ll give me a job. And, she told me that she would help me if I needed help, and not to hesitate to go to her if I needed someone. I was thinking, yeah Sharly I need you between my sheets, with your lesbian lover, but of course I appreciated the offer. I just can’t help but think those things at the most inappropriate times.

In the meanwhile, Pete has been looking for another apartment, a two bedroom, but he said now we can’t even do that because I need a job, so starting tomorrow I need to start looking. I’m also supposed to be getting physical therapy for my leg but fuck that, I can walk I’m just fine thank you. Fuck the physical therapy just give me more pain meds! Damn, they won’t give me anymore so I’ll have to talk to Dave, I know he can get some for me.

Anyway, back in Boston, I met these people at a bar and I got so fucked up they practically needed to carry me back to the hostel, so the hostel didn’t want me to stay while I was in that state, especially since I puked outside the hostel door and had puke all over me. The people collected my things from the hostel and took me back to one of their apartments. We all stayed there. Much of my night was on the bathroom floor. I was given clothes to wear while they cleaned mine, and I puked on those jeans too. The people were three gay guys who said they were good, they didn’t molest me but confessed they wanted to. I’m beginning to think I’m a gay guy magnet or something. Maybe because I’m not homophobic in the least, I’m really accepting of EVERYONE and I love ALL KINDS of people, the more unique the better. Ok get ready here comes some more philosophy, though I think I’m repeating myself on this one.

My name is Wall Grimm and this is my philosophy about individuality.

WALL GRIMM’S INDIVIDUALITY PHILOSOPHY

Even people who seem common or conformed are unique. It’s cool to give everyone the opportunity to be without preconceived judgments or categorization. You can take two people and put them through the same exact experience, and they will absorb that experience in two completely different ways. It will become a part of them, and manifest differently. It’s good to take the time to like everyone upon a first encounter, at least until they piss you off.

Anyway, my world is falling apart. I will never have Emma. Sweetheart left town with my baby and she never wanted to give me a chance to prove myself. I’m thinking she figured I wasn’t good enough to be the father of her baby. And Pete, who’s become my best friend, is pissed off at me. I lost my job. I don’t know. I guess I should just think of this time as a transition, not destruction but restruction. Or the destroy in order to create, like when there are forest fires. There’s a lot of destruction of life, but nature doesn’t make shit like that happen for kicks. Nature destroys the forest, and new life comes from that. So, yeah, who knows.

It’s really snowing out there though, so I’m going to shovel, then I’m going to call Hasty and Patrick so we can play in the snow later. I want to build a snow fort. I love building snow forts. It’s not really that kind of snow, but if we bring water, we can probably build an awesome fort. And a snowman. Sounds like a plan.

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Pagehttp://wp.me/P41c99-J

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Yeah I’m in Boston. Thursday I decided to leave town and come into Boston and not tell anyone. I’ve been getting calls and txts and so I had to shut my phone off. I just realized though that, knowing Pete and/or my parents, they probably reported me missing by now. So I guess I’ll go home after the parade.

I took $300 from Sharly without her permission, but I left a note saying that I had to leave for a little while and I’d pay her back. I took it from the back room, she was going to make a bank trip on Friday. So about 2:00 on Thursday, I swiped the cash and caught a train into Boston. I was fortunate that there was a vacancy at a hostel. Well there wasn’t really a vacancy but I kind of begged a little and they put a cot into one of the dorm rooms, which may or may not be against fire codes, but there are fire code violations everywhere during the Irish holiday, unintentionally of course. Everyone is too drunk, too enthusiastic, and/or too Irish to notice.

So anyway I really wanted to see the Dropkick Murphys and I was at this bar Thursday night and I met a woman who actually had tickets. She was 38 and married. She and her husband were in town from Arkansas and he was freakin’ miserable. I said I want to go and he said he didn’t care. She asked me what I would do to earn the ticket. In my head I was thinking, ‘are you seriously asking me that question??’ But I was drunk so I said whatever you want because I don’t have the money for it. This was a lie, but I wanted to spare as much money as possible. More money meant more green beer and whiskey. And yeah Grimm was a bad boy and went back to this couple’s hotel room, with both of them, and I fucked her while her husband was in the same room with us watching news about the St. Patrick’s Day festivities in Boston and mumbling, “I ain’t going back out there until our stay is up and it’s time to go home.” She’d respond shit like, “shut up, you’re ruining the mood,” then she’d say to me, “just keep doing what you’re doing honey.” It was very strange. But all for the Dropkick Murphys! To make it a complete Boston St. Patrick’s Day experience.

Anyway, I had to meet her there so I could get the ticket, she wouldn’t just give it to me. So once inside, I ditched her as soon as I could once I was in the mosh pit. She couldn’t stick around because it was too much for her, so she had to squeeze herself out. It would have been cool to go today at the House of Blues, but this one was Friday at TD Garden and I was just glad to be able to go.

Then yesterday I participated in the pub crawl. Don’t even ask me about what the fuck I did or where the fuck I went because I’m completely blacked out. My black out begins somewhere at the concert. And I’m waking up now in a strange place, I don’t know where I am, but it looks like an apartment. I don’t know if I’ll be blacking out today. I check myself and I wasn’t ripped off of any money or drugs, though I’m only in my jeans, with no shirt, shoes, or socks. I’m freezing and I don’t know where the rest of my clothes are. I think I should just find my shit and get the fuck out because I need to make my way to find a good spot for the parade. It doesn’t start until 1, but people are already going to find spots by now and it’s not even 8am yet.

I’m on the floor in I guess a living room, feeling sick as hell though, I don’t know if I can even go to the parade. It looks like there’s vomit on my jeans. Wait…these are not my fucking jeans. wtf.

Some guy comes into the room and says “oh good you’re up, how are you feeling honey?” Then he just went into the kitchen I guess.

Honey??!!!? What the fuck did I do last night?

Ok, when I’m drunk I get horny pretty easily. When I’m high, depending upon the drug, I’m an easy sexual conquest. I might be too out of it to notice if it’s a guy who’s trying to get it on with me. That is until a dick makes itself known. But kissing a guy and being groped by a guy, sometimes I’m too out of my mind to realize it, because when your eyes are closed, a tongue is just a tongue, and someone rubbing your balls still feels good. This doesn’t make me gay or even bisexual. This makes me a drunken slut, kind of like what Pete said, I guess. Anyway, sober, it’s a different thing. There are more specific things that make me horny.

My name is Wall Grimm, and this is my list of things that make me horny.

WALL GRIMM’s LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY

women, NOT MEN, Emma, all my friends that are girls, and….

Let’s clarify, I will make the list, and NONE of it has anything to do with men, like when I say eyes, I mean a woman’s eyes. ETC. I digress.

WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY AND ONLY PERTAIN TO WOMEN

women, NOT MEN, Emma, all my friends that are girls, eyes, legs, tits, all body parts…

Ok this is too obvious. Let me try again.

WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY AND ONLY PERTAIN TO WOMEN AND HAPPEN TO BE THINGS THAT ARE NOT THE OBVIOUS

intelligence, humor, music, girls who read lots of books, creativity, vulnerability, uniqueness, girls who dress differently than everyone else, girls who cook me pasta dinners, girls who love that I’m Sicilian, girls who are both outdoorsy and like to take care of me in the home, spontaneity…

Ok these are attributes, one more time with unusual things, then I’m done.

WALL GRIMM’S LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE ME HORNY AND ONLY PERTAIN TO WOMEN AND HAPPEN TO BE THINGS THAT ARE NOT THE OBVIOUS NOR ARE THEY ATTRIBUTES, BUT RATHER THEY ARE UNUSUAL THINGS

blow jobs in the alley, spontaneous sex, sex with strangers, not knowing a person’s name when we begin to kiss, the beach, sweat, rain, the smell of a good marinara sauce, the shower, campfires, chocolate, getting squished up close to a stranger on the subway because there’s no room (remember this is still all pertaining to women only), inconspicuously getting a glimpse up a short skirt, low-cut shirts or shirts that give me an idea of the size and shape of a women’s tits, high heel shoes, red lipstick…

And I can’t go on because I’m too hung over, and horny and hung over don’t mix so well. I’m going to go puke my fucking brains out, figure out what I did last night, then hopefully make it to the parade in time, hoping the parade won’t kill me.

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For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

All right well I was going to talk about Sweetheart the other day, but didn’t feel like it, and now some things have changed even since then. But here it is, mistake #2

My name is Wall Grimm and this is my second weekend mistake.

WALL GRIMM’S WEEKEND MISTAKE #2

Ok well Sweetheart was kind of upset because she felt like I was ignoring her all day Saturday. Early in the day she told me she was pregnant and so I told her that I needed a little time to think about it. I wanted my reaction to be pure, and completely uninfluenced by any of her own ideas on the matter. I have a philosophy about that.

My name is Mr. Wall Grimm and this is my philosophy about news.

WALL GRIMM’S NEWS PHILOSOPHY

When people have news to share, good or bad, we gauge our reactions depending upon how they present the news, or based on what they say regarding the news prior to any response we have a chance to offer. This is a normal psychological phenomenon. However, when the news directly involves you, you kind of need that moment to not listen to what they say, or see how they feel about it. You need to step away so your response isn’t manipulated (purposeful or otherwise) by the way they are emotionally connected to the news. Because here’s the thing, they’ve known it for however long, and prior to telling you, they’ve already come to terms with it in one way or another, or come to a decision, and they are often seeking validation.

Ok so this is what I told her. She understood. I admit I kind of ignored her Saturday, but I didn’t realize I was doing it. I was kind of weighing the circumstances in my mind and in deep thought and I drank a lot that day too. It was one of those days when it was perfect to be on a level different from everyone else.

So Sunday, we talked about this and she was sorry that she was upset, but she didn’t need to be, I mean she had a lot to think about too and needed me and I stepped back. But stepping back was mandatory for me in order to get on the same page as her. So Sunday I told her that we should raise the baby together, that I would try to be a responsible father. Then she told me that she needed time to think about it. She understood then why I needed to step away, now she was in my shoes. I didn’t understand what she needed to think about though, but whatever.

Later in the day, Pete was out and I was watching an old “Walking Dead” on Netflix. Sweetheart came out of the bedroom in just a pair of underwear, no bra and ….damn, it doesn’t matter how much I see her like that, it’s like every time it’s brand new she’s so hot. She got on her knees and was going to try and suck my dick, which she doesn’t do too often, but that’s ok I have Ayla for that. I stopped her because it seemed weird to do things sexually with her while she was pregnant, I don’t know why.

I guess it kind of felt like there was this tiny little spy floating around who could see everything, so it seemed inappropriate to have sex in front of a baby. Also if I were to fuck her, that would seem weird to me that my dick would be venturing toward the territory where this little spy resided.

So she got on her knees and I was like, no thanks, which hurt her feelings, so she went in my bedroom. I followed her in and she was crying, I asked her what the matter was and she said I didn’t want her anymore. I said no I just feel weird because of the baby. She said it doesn’t hurt the baby and the baby doesn’t know what’s going on. She was rubbing my balls through my pants when she said this so I had to agree with her. Anyway, I had to ease into the idea. I sucked her tits and fingered her to start. She has the most beautiful tits. They’re the kind that are medium in size and they are a little flat on top with a fullness on the bottom. They point in opposite directions with her pink nipples. Damn I love them. So I sucked the hell out of them and fingered her and watched her face as she moaned and came a few times from that. Then I fucked her and forgot all about the little spy. Because most times, the only thing I’m thinking of when I’m fucking is “holy ohhhh fucking ohhhhh shit mmmmmmm this feels so fucking good yeaaaaahhhh” that’s if there are words in my brain.

After we fucked all day Sunday, we talked Monday and she was ok with the idea of giving it a try, we’d try to be parents. Then Tuesday I came home from work and she was gone. Pete said she was gone when he got home, but didn’t realize she left for good. I looked in my room and on my pillow she left a note.

Dear Valente,

Thank you for wanting to step up and be a man. That’s so reassuring. I need to figure things out without you though. I need to travel a little, like I was planning and see what kind of life I would like to lie ahead for me. I didn’t want you to talk me out of going or expect to come with me. I’m sorry to just leave you like this. I think I’m going to Arizona where I have a Hopi friend and I can stay with him on his reservation for some time. You’re so sweet and you don’t scare easily, I admire how brave you are. I do love you, but I don’t think you love me quite the same way. You love Emma like that, and I don’t want to trap you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.

Love always,

Elaina

So yeah, I still don’t know how to feel or think so I haven’t felt or thought anything. It’s like a concrete wall built itself up in my mind, since it’s one of those occasions that require a proper emotional response, yet since you have no control over it, and the response is probably negative and painful, it’s best to block it off with a wall. It reminds me of the psychic wall I had started to both build and break down. I am full of walls. And my name is not Valente, my name is Wall Grimm.

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